While You Were Sleeping
by inugirl232
Summary: Sherlock encounters strange feelings he's never felt before, and they're directed at Watson. John is having a similar problem. They have to deal with and figure out these feelings before they can tell each other what they're thinking. Reichen spoilers. JohnxLock Fluff


First Night

~~~x~~~

"H-hey, wait!" Watson shouted as Sherlock whipped out of the flat. The exasperated medic sighed and grabbed his coat, hoping the mad "consulting detective" didn't leave without him. The man had just been muttering to himself about something, shouted incoherently about a woman, and then zipped about the flat, collecting his things to leave. Watson flew down the stairs and saw that the cab was still there.

"Any day now, John," came the remark from the backseat. Watson rolled his eyes and hopped in.

"Want to explain who the murderer was?"

"The sister," Sherlock answered without looking at the other man, "they never checked the teacups." Watson just blinked in astonishment.

"Brilliant."

…..X…x…X…..

"Open the safe."

"I don't know the code."

The two flatmates found themselves in a similar position as they were in with Irene Adler; the criminals wanted Sherlock to open a coded safe, and a woman was being held hostage. The villain "sister" (Evelyn) that Sherlock had mentioned had a combat knife pressed onto a random woman's throat. Her lover (Harry) had a gun pointing at the detective and his colleague.

"Open the safe or the woman dies," Evelyn annunciated slowly, as if that would get her point across.

"I _said _I don't know the code." Sherlock was getting impatient, and Watson was trying to figure out a way for the hostage to escape. The woman was trembling furiously, choked sobs barely escaping her throat.

Evelyn nodded shortly at Harry, who proceeded to grab Watson and throw him to the ground. When the veteran tried to rise, the criminal lover pointed his gun at his head.

"Let's try this again—open the safe, or your _partner _dies."

"I don't _KNOW!_" Sherlock shouted. He didn't really mind informing the stupid pair that he "didn't know", but now something more valuable was at stake. The mad detective loved testing his wits, but not when Watson was at the end of a gun.

Sherlock's thoughts were racing wildly, trying a number of possible combinations for the lock. It was only four numbers. _Four numbers!_ That shouldn't have been that hard!

"5…4…3…" the villainous woman counted, Sherlock was looking around at the numbers spinning around his head, waving away ones that didn't fit. He didn't have any personality traits or any sort of information to base his deductions on.

"2…"

"Stop."

"1…"

"_Stop!"_ Sherlock twisted around just in time to see another nod exchanged between Evelyn and Harry. The latter trained his gaze on Watson. John looked up, catching Sherlock's eyes.

"JOHN!"

The trigger was pulled at the same time the woman hostage screamed and the consulting detective lunged. A body dropped with a heavy thud. The remaining unharmed people stared at the sight of Sherlock Holmes lying, shot, on the ground. There was blood seeping into his clothes and onto the floor.

"Sherlock." Watson scrambled towards the bleeding man. He ripped off the pullover he was wearing and pressed it into Sherlock's wound. The medic felt himself getting a little dizzy, but he decided to brush it off. "Sherlock, don't you dare leave me."

There were sudden siren calls outside of the abandoned building the crime was being held in.

"Shit, how did they get here so fast?" Evelyn cursed, dropping her knife. There was no way for them to escape.

John was too preoccupied with Sherlock to care about the other people in the room. The detective wasn't speaking, just staring and blinking rapidly, trying to control his breathing and mask his pain. Lestrade, Anderson, and Donovan were the first people on the scene. Even Donovan's eyes bugged a little when she Sherlock's state. Watson was still crouching next to him, doing what he could to stanch the bleeding. It was working some.

Sherlock was watching Watson's face dizzily. The medic would look worried, then hopeful, and then fall into an expressionless, business-like state. Sherlock knew he wasn't going to die, but he did admit that the blood loss was alarming. There were EMS men running about the room, trying to gently pull Watson away. Lestrade knelt by Watson's side, hoping to help the EMS personnel.

"Don't you _dare _die on me, Sherlock," Watson growled as he stood. Sherlock's mouth twitched in a light smile. The whole time he was being transported, the "high-functioning sociopath" never lost consciousness, and Watson wasn't permitted to go for the ambulance ride.

John took a taxi to the hospital, wishing to see Sherlock as soon as possible. When he arrived, the onyx-haired man was asleep in his bed. The wound was bandaged up. There was barely any blood seeping into the gauze. John's face twitched with irritation. The fool only got grazed with the bullet.

The veteran sighed and checked his watch—3:02pm. He flopped in the chair next to the bed and stared at Sherlock.

"Ridiculous," he muttered, "and dramatic."

Sherlock's hair was lightly brushing his eyes. His breathing was just as light, and John was amazed that he was able to sleep so peacefully here. _Anesthesia,_ Watson thought. He chuckled and moved the hair away from Sherlock's face, his fingertips grazing his flatmate's forehead. The medic felt a small shock when he touched the other man's skin. He wanted to brush off the feeling, but he was not as dense about his feelings as his favorite sociopath. Though that was true, Watson still dismissed the electricity as a small attraction of the moment because he couldn't maintain a girlfriend for the life of him.

After the clumps of hair were moved from Sherlock's face, John leaned back into his chair and dozed off.

…..X…x…X…..

"I'm perfectly alright, and I want to return to my flat."

"But, sir, we—"

"I know very well that you can't keep me here if I refuse treatment."

Watson's eyes fluttered open to Sherlock attempting to get dressed and arguing with some poor nurse.

"Sherlock," John attempted to say, but it came out more as a sleepy garble.

"Oh, good, you're awake. See, I have someone to take care of me. I'll be leaving now."

Unfortunately, Sherlock's shirt was half soaked in blood. The only thing more unfortunate than that was that sociopath was still trying to put it on and leave.

"Sherlock." John's speech came out clearer this time. He stood up and grabbed the said man's wrists, halting his movements. "You're not leaving like that."

"Fine, then; give me your shirt."

Watson sighed and rolled his eyes, yanking off the shirt and giving it to Sherlock. He was left in just a tank top. Sherlock pulled on John's shirt but left it open, threw on his scarf, and grabbed his coat.

"Let's go, john," Sherlock called as he left.

_Not this again_, John sighed inwardly. He followed anyway, leaving the flustered nurse behind.

"Do you need to be so dramatic?" Watson queried sarcastically. Sherlock didn't respond to the question, but said this: "I suppose this means you're not going to 'allow' me to leave the flat because of this." He patted his wounded arm.

"That's right."

"It doesn't hurt."

"Of course it doesn't. Taxi!" Watson called. Sherlock winced as he got in the cab, thinking john wouldn't notice. He did.

The medic was still pretty tired, and it was a bit of a drive back to the flat; he was going to have to fight to stay awake. However, as soon as he was comfortable in the taxi, Watson felt himself slipping. He was sleeping within a few moments.

Sherlock was looking out of the window as his flatmate was, not very gradually, crashing into a slumber. As Watson slept, he was slowly leaning onto the detective, using his shoulder as support. Sherlock was surprised at the sudden contact, and he looked down at Watson.

_There was something like this on the telly the other day…_ Sherlock thought. _It was a 'romantic' scene. _

The man stared at the other's lips and leaned in slowly. He felt the breathing of his partner, warm on his face. He held his breath and pulled in closer…

_Yes, _Sherlock added to his thought, _something like that happened._ He allowed Watson to rest. He stared out of the window again, mildly confused. When he had imaged kissing Watson just then, he found the idea didn't repel him.

"That means something, but…" Sherlock muttered, "I'm not quite sure what."

First Night

~~~x~~~

END


End file.
